


rock me real slowly

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Impregnation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Unhealthy Relationships, a mildly altered state of mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you’d had a child during the last lockout as we suggested, you wouldn’t be in this position.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	rock me real slowly

**Author's Note:**

> "Hurry," I said to myself. "You gotta finish this before Johansen gets traded." Lmao. I almost got it. Now it can be a farewell present.
> 
> Title from "6 8" by Gabriel Garzón-Montano.
> 
> I've lost all perspective, tell me if I forgot a tag. Additional, spoiler-y warnings at the end notes.

Cam didn’t worry when he woke up with a sore chest.  Maybe he rubbed at it, hissed at the tenderness. A glance in the mirror didn’t reveal anything; his nipples were possibly a shade darker, his chest a touch softer than usual, but still not enough to ring any alarms. It probably should have; it obviously wasn’t a bruise-hurt, nothing broken or failing, but still… off. Nothing a tiny diet change couldn’t fix up, he figured.

At the rink, his Under Armour’s uncomfortable, and it only gets worse once he gets his shoulderpads on. He feels raw, chafed. But what was he supposed to say? _Hey, Torts, can’t practice today, my tits randomly hurt?_ Fuck, no.

Still, it’s a distraction. He spends every moment he can bent over, trying to relieve the building pressure on his chest. It get worse, the more time that passes, like the confines are getting tighter. Moving his torso and arms makes the shirt rub against him uncomfortably. It’s unbearable by the end of practice. The part of him that makes him want to run the trainers keeps growing, but he doesn’t want them to make a big deal. Out of _the thing._ Everything always circles back to that, with them, but he doesn’t really want to deal with a talk about, like, maternity and shit right now.

So Cam doesn’t say anything. It’s a relief to get his gear off, and he’s in no hurry to put a shirt back on. He takes his time showering, joking around. Eventually, the uptick in wandering eyes forces him back into getting dressed. He’s a little irritated; the guys have been pretty great about Cam, up to this point.

Well, except Joey, but that’s a whole different situation.

Even the cotton of his t-shirt feels rough against Cam’s nipples. It’s annoying enough that Cam cancels his dinner plans with some of the boys, ready for a night of being a shut in and hoping his, uh, _situation_ chills the fuck out.

Once he gets back to his apartment, he sprawls out on his couch, trying to get comfortable despite the sensation building in his chest. An unholy lineup on the Cooking Channel gets him through the hours, sending a text to Joey every time something particular flares up his cravings. He’s downright lethargic by the time the sun goes down.

It’s not too much later when Cam hears Joey barge in through his front door, loud as can be, then swings around to Cam’s living room with handfuls of bags. 

“I come bearing Indian food,” Joey announces. “And ice cream.”

He deposits the bag with the ice cream right into Cam’s lap; Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra, because Joey’s a perv, but Cam’s jaw aches from how hard he’s salivating over the chocolate and the spices of the vindaloo.

“Aw, you do pay attention when I text you,” Cam swoons, only mostly an act.

“‘Thank you, Joey, I so appreciate you going out of your way to feed me, Joey,’” Joey replies in a bad falsetto. “You’re welcome, loving wife.”

Cam pinches Joey with his toes, and then Joey sits on them. They eat in silence. Not enough has happened in the three hours they’d been separated to talk about.

Cam flexes his toes under Joey’s thighs, feeling warm and content and full—

“Buddy,” Joey says, sounding like he’s about to laugh. “Whatcha got going on there?” 

Cam frowns at him, then startles when he glances down at himself. Two quarter-sized wet spots have appeared on his shirt, parral to each other. He wrestles his shirt off, revealing his raised, cherry red nipples. They’re swollen, obviously bigger than they were even that morning, and wet, with a pearly substance leaking out of the tips. “Holy shit,” he yelps.

Cam barely registers Joey crawling into his lap. “Holy shit,” Joey repeats, wondrous. His hands are cupping Cam’s chest a second later, his nipples centered between Joey’s thumbs and index fingers. Cam jerks up to grab Joey’s wrists, but his _no_ gets drowned out by the whimper drawn out of him by Joey squeezing at the soft flesh around his nipples. 

 _Milk_ , it has to be milk, streams out, soaking Cam and Joey’s hands even further. Cam’s eyes practically roll back in his head from the release. Any fight in him drains away, leaving him limp. “Oh my God,” Cam slurs, embarrassingly high.

“Yeah?” Joey says, brushing his thumbs against the sensitive nubs and making Cam twitch. “You like that?” Instead of answering, Cam arches into his hands, sighing gratefully when Joey massages out another stream of milk.

The relief is so immediate that Cam can barely respond, just keeps presenting his chest to Joey. He’s hardly aware enough to be surprised when Joey starts sucking on Cam’s nipple.

Joey’s lips are soft, but they’re still too much against Cam’s over-sensitive buds. It makes Cam gasp and squirm, but Joey keeps biting and sucking at Cam’s nipples. The sensation is too much, building until Cam has to force out, “Joey, ‘s hurting me.”

Joey leans up, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“The teeth. Hurts too much.”

“Oh,” Joey says, “Sorry.” He kisses the center of Cam’s chest again before latching back on, mouth wide and covering the whole of Cam’s nipple, suckling hard but not painfully. Cam sighs and relaxes back into the couch. He rises shaking hands to Ryan’s head, to ground himself rather than guide.

As if his mouth isn’t enough, Joey’s hand keeps wandering over Cam’s torso, feeling up his stomach before wandering back up to squeeze at Cam’s swollen chest and rub at, pinch his leaking nipples. Cam shivers from how amazing it feels. He tries so hard to get closer, get more of Joey on him. At the same time, he feels like he’s losing control, like he’s melting into goo.

Joey switches nipples after one runs dry, one wide lick before settling in, too into it to tease anymore. It still takes awhile, but the steady pulse soothes Cam soul deep, a release he unlike any he’d felt before.

Afterwards Joey settles heavy on Cam. They just stare at each other for a moment, high on whatever had just occurred, before Joey whimpers out, “ _Baby_ ,” and licking into Cam’s mouth.

Later, after Cam’s attention had already drifted back to the _Unique Sweets_ repeat, Joey asks the obvious question. “Cam,” he says, “Cam, are you pregnant?”

“No,” Cam snaps, an automatic response for whenever his name and ‘pregnant’ came out of Joey’s mouth in the same sentence. Then he thinks about it. It makes him nauseated, for a second. He’d played a game two days ago. He’s not sure how far into pregnancy people start… leaking, as well, but he’s fairly sure it’s well past the point where playing hockey is still safe. “No, I can’t be.”

“Are you _sure?”_

Which is how Joey ends up sitting on Cam’s bathroom sink, watching him pee on a stick left over from their last scare. Then they wait. Three minutes.

“It’s not like I have any other symptoms,” Cam argues, but he can tell Joey’s still eyeing low on his torso. “This just started today, it just— it doesn’t add up.”

Joey grunts, says, “We’ve fucked plenty,” and then neither of them say much until the timer on Joey’s phone goes off. They both lean over the stick. 

“See?” Cam says with something like relief. “One stripe. Not pregnant.”

Joey grabs the box it came in out of the trash. “Do these things have an expiration date?”

Cam sighs. “Ryan. I’m not pregnant.”

“Well, what the fuck else could it be?” Joey snaps, and Cam leaves the room. Goes to his bed, curls up under the sheets. He can still hear Joey make his temper tantrum of an exit, the same one he makes every time Cam fails that test. Cam tries to avoid it. Doesn’t like the guilt it gives him.

Cam sets an early alarm, then three more as back up. Going to sleep isn’t easy. He’s grateful that the team has a long homestand for him to take care of this.

 

***

 

The first thing Cam does when he wakes up is call the team doctor, to try and get an appointment before the game that night.

Well, that’s not true. The first thing he does is burn in shame over what’d happened last night, how he’d been too out of it to resist, how things ended with Ryan (not that it’d been that much a deviance from the norm, on that front), how he could already feel the need for a repeat building up in his chest again. The _second_ thing he does is call the doctor’s office.

He gets his secretary.

“Can you be more specific about your issue, Mr. Atkinson?” she asks.

“Uh… hormone issues, I think.” 

“I see.” There’s some clicking in the background, and then she says, “Well, Dr. Redwood’s going to be at the arena for the morning practice, so you could see him then. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to fit you in at his office until four, and even then there’s a high chance that he’ll be busy.”

Cam tries working out the logistics of squeezing in a doctor’s appointment and getting to the rink on time, but it doesn’t add up. He resigns himself to meeting at the arena.

Cam doesn’t have to wait long once he gets to Dr. Redwood’s room. The room still smells more like rink than doctor’s office, and Dr. Redwood is wearing the same suit that everyone here wears to work, no jacket. Cam almost regrets that the meeting isn’t somewhere else. It feels too close to work.

Still, Dr. Redwood is perfectly professional. “So what appears to be the problem, Cam?”

Cam can feel his face flaring up. “I, uh, my chest… it’s. Um. Doing weird things.” Cam’s getting flashbacks to the first time he’d stuttered through asking his mom for birth control. She’d sighed, irritated, and said, _if you can’t say it, you don’t deserve it._ Then there’d been some Catholic guilting. He hadn’t ended up going to the doctor’s for years after, and he still has the prescription lying unused in a drawer somewhere. Probably expired, at this point. “Leaking. It’s kinda swollen, too.”

Dr. Redwood hums. He clicks at his computer for a few moments before saying, “Why don’t you remove your shirt so I can get a closer look.”

Cam only hesitates a second before yanking his shirt over his head. He’s slouched forward at word, defensive, but Dr. Redwood corrects his posture with a hand on his shoulder. The first touch of a gloved hand to his chest makes Cam inhale sharply.

Dr. Redwood’s hand covers one pec, squeezing gently. It makes Cam jerk, too sensitive even though he knows Dr. Redwood’s just doing his job. “And when did you first notice this?” he asks. 

“Uh, I first noticed yesterday morning, I guess? But it wasn’t really that bad until last night.”

“Hm. So this is all built up from yesterday?” Dr. Redwood asks. He switches sides, and  Cam can feel a spurt of milk escape him when the doctor presses at him. He makes a noise high in his throat.

Dr. Redwood hums again before taking his hand off Cam. He hands a tissue to Cam before throwing his gloves into the trash and turning back to his computer.

“I had… someone. Take care of it last night,” Cam says as he sops up the liquid dripping down his chest, face burning. He doesn’t know why he can’t just say it straight; there’s really only one way to interpret what he’s saying.

“Is that so,” Dr. Redwood says, not a question. “Well, that might help balance out Mr. Johansen’s diet. Please insure he cuts down on his outside fat consumption. 

Cam wants to hide in a hole somewhere. Very badly.

“Well, Cam, it seems you have a fairly straightforward case of galactorrhea. Spontaneous breast milk production, which you already knew. In cases like yours, there are several possible steroid treatments.” Cam sighs in relief. “All of which are on the prohibited substances list.”

Cam gapes at him, mouth open.

“How can they all be banned?” Cam demanded. “It can’t be that rare, if you diagnosed it that quickly. Why can’t you just give me a prescription that covers it?”

Instead of answering, Dr. Redwood says, “You don’t have any children, correct?” He’s looking at Cam, expectant, even though he already knows the answer.

“Just my dog,” Cam says weakly. Dr. Redwood looks unimpressed.

“I see. And you’re turning how old next year?” 

Cam represses a groan. “Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven,” Dr. Redwood repeats. “Cam, I’m going to be frank with you. The treatments for this condition hasn’t been approved by the league because breeders-” Cam cringes at the terminology- “simply _don’t let themselves get to this state._ I understand your dedication to the team and not wanting to miss a season, but you need to take care of yourself as well. Your body is simply trying to make up for what you refuse to give it. If you’d had a child during the last lockout as we suggested, you wouldn’t be in this position.” He pauses a moment, presumably so Cam can truly wallow in shame. Then, he breaks eye contact and starts typing in Cam’s file. It makes him feel helpless, knowing that everyone who glances at it for… however long is going to know that Cam’s body his rejecting its barren state.

When Dr. Redwood speaks again, his calm, condescending, doctorly tone is firmly back in place. “Other than the sensitivity, the lactation shouldn’t affect your play too badly, so there’s no point in putting you on IR.” Cam’s fairly sure it’s just illegal. “Your symptoms should reduce once this fertile cycle is over, but it’s extremely likely that they will return— most likely worsened— if you don’t conceive before the start of your next cycle. I suggest you invest in a pump.”

That, apparently, is Cam’s dismissal. He hesitates for a moment, then leaves, feeling worse than he had before.

Cam’s just started changing when the door to the locker room bangs open. It’s Joey, obviously, and he makes a beeline to Cam when they make eye contact.

“Hey,” Joey says, looming too close. Cam has to crane his neck to look at him. “Went by your apartment to pick you up but you weren’t there.” He sounds kind of annoyed by it.

“Yeah, I came in early. To talk to Dr. Redwood.”

“What, about your thing?” Joey raises a hand to twist Cam’s nipple, but Cam slaps him down, hard. His chest still throbs at the idea. “I know things, I could’ve told you all about it. Already taking care of you, aren’t I?”

Cam thinks Joey’s smirk was supposed to be seductive, but he misses the mark. Cam still flushes. “Sorry that I don’t trust your Googling skills over a professional opinion.” Joey scoffs.

“Yeah? Did the good doctor give you something better than I did?” 

No, not at all. Cam doesn’t want to admit to that. “Well, what advice did Google give you? Just knock me up?” He says with venom, like he’s brushing off the idea. Nevermind it was also Dr. Redwood’s advice.

Joey blinks. “Uh, well, yeah. But I’m not gonna force it on you,” he says, with the same voice he uses every time he swears they won’t go to Dave & Buster’s the next time they go out.

“Seriously, though, what’s wrong with what I’m doing?” Joey asks. Cam doesn’t respond, but he can’t look away from Joey, which makes Joey’s smile take a more honest, prideful turn. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes finally slide down, slow, to Cam’s chest. “Actually, you look like you could already use a redo.”

“Fuck off,” Cam snaps, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m fine. _I’m fine._ ”

Joey keeps smiling as he says, “Sure, babe,” and presses a wet kiss to Cam’s forehead. Cam gut punches him, but not as hard he could’ve.

Cam avoids Joey for the rest of morning skate, then through video review, but by the end he’s even more uncomfortable than he was the day before. He asks Joey to follow him home, when they leave.

Knowing what’s happening, then following through on purpose puts Cam on edge. He throws his keys onto the kitchen island. He’s fairly sure they slide right off the other side, but he doesn’t go back from them. Joey’s uncharacteristically quiet behind him.

Cam strips off his shirt and arranges himself on the couch, hands crossed over his stomach, an awkward echo from last night. He doesn’t see Joey come around, too focused on his ceiling.

He feels Joey straddle him, and he braces for Joey to dive in, but instead Joey kisses him, lightly, until Cam opens his mouth. Joey’s thorough, overly generous with his tongue, and it makes Cam unwind.

Joey breaks off and says, “Hey. I’m sorry for how last night ended. I just- I _really_ want—”

“I know,” Cam interrupts. “Can you just please…” He arches his back, and the material of Joey’s sweatshirt against his nipples makes him hiss. 

Joey almost growls, then he kisses Cam’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, his sternum, before latching on with a solid suck that makes Cam groan deeply. It’s just as good as last time.

Afterwards, they put together a decent enough lunch, then pass out until they’re nearly late pregame.

Joey drives. He’s not nice enough to pretend not to see Cam adjust the seat belt. “Seriously, dude? Already?”

“No,” Cam lies. “It’s just because you’re rough.”

Joey scowls, but he doesn’t comment again. Not when Cam’s overly careful putting on his gear, not when he shies away from anything brushing his chest.

Cam’s been a hockey player since before puberty, before he was obviously a carrier, before he was decisively _Cam,_ and that’s what gets him through warmups and the first two periods.

By the second intermission, the pressure is unbearable. He throws his jersey and most of his gear into his locker, then slides up against Joey.

“Please? I need-” Joey glances at him, a mask of disinterest. Joey’s a bad liar. Cam rests his head against Joey’s sweaty shoulder. “I’m sorry. I need you.”

Joey grumbles, then drags Cam into some isolated corner. Joey’s rough as he rucks up Cam’s shirt to his armpits, and Cam leans his head back, panting. He doesn’t expect the fingernail digging into the center of his nipple, and it makes him jerk away. Joey doesn’t let him go far.

“You’ve been kind of a bitch today, Cam,” Joey says. He actually sounds hurt, and it makes Cam feel guilty. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry,” Cam repeats, choked up. He’s already leaking, but it’s not _enough_ , not quick enough.

Joey pinches the swollen tip of Cam’s nipple, forcing out another dribble of the cloudy liquid. “I can’t even drink all of this this right now. I’d throw it all up after my first shift.”

Cam’s face burns. Still, Joey keeps tugging at him, massaging out the excess liquid, occasionally ducking down to suck some out, only to let the milk pour out of the corners of his mouth. Cam can’t shut himself up, so grateful for Joey putting up with him, helping him through this.

Joey stops and backs away before Cam’s done, and Cam tries not to whine about it, but. Well. It’s dissatisfying.

Joey grabs a towel out of nowhere and dries off his hands, then starts wiping up the milk that’d dripped down Cam’s torso. Joey whispers, “Shhh, babe. We have to get ready for the third. Michael just came in to tell us, didn’t you hear?” 

“Oh.” Cam blinks, owlish. “No.”

Joey’s gentle as he wipes at Cam’s nipples, but it still makes Cam hiss. Then he arches his back, presses his chest out, hoping Joey will take him up on the offer, drain him dry. Joey groans deep in his throat, incapable of _not_ dipping down for one last suck. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re sweet. So sweet for me. It’s a damn shame this is all going to waste. Should’ve rounded up a couple of the rookies, could’ve split it. Fuck, you’d be such a great team mom. Such a great _mom,”_ Joey emphasizes. Cam’s half sure he’s just babbling.

“Thank you,” he can’t help but say anyway.

Cam’s slow when he gets back on the ice, in his feet and hands and mind. They lose the game, not because of him but not _not_ because of him, either. He still doesn’t get reamed out for it. Some distant part of him that knows he should be better is upset about that.

The part dominating Cam forgets about the game immediately, follows Joey home, then falls asleep at the gentle suction of Joey finishing what he started at the rink.

Cam wakes up full again. 

“Jesus fuck,” Cam curses. Joey’s arm jerks out, slapping at the bed until his hand lands on Cam’s chest, which he gropes. Shit, Cam’s so fucking swollen that it feels like he has legitimate _breasts,_ big enough to fill the palm of Joey’s hand.

“Already?” Joey slurs, still half asleep.

“You can’t be surprised,” Cam complains.

“It’s alright,” Joey says, rolling over from his side of the bed. “I got you.”

Joey’s gotten almost worryingly good at milking Cam, but it feels too good for Cam to question. Feeding Joey is fulfilling, unimaginably so. Like he’s the only one who can take care of them, even though he knows Joey’s capable of an outside diet. It’s better than any massage, soothing and warm and so, so close.

He always feels so immobile after, but he smiles when Joey leans up, sits on Cam’s thighs. His hands wander, squeezing at Cam’s hips, stomach, arms, chest, face. “Shit, you look so great like this. So beautiful.” He leans down and kisses Cam once, chastely. “Can I fuck your face?”

It occurs to Cam that they haven’t had sex in… awhile. Before all this started, definitely.  “Oh, yeah. Sure. Definitely.” 

Joey drags Cam to the edge of the mattress, with his head hanging off. It makes him pretty much even with Joey’s dick; Cam is fairly sure Joey bought the bed he did for exactly this reason.  

Joey takes his time tagging Cam’s face, rubbing the wet tip against Cam’s lips, his cheeks, his nose. Usually, Cam cringes when Joey gets like this. Right now, it just makes Cam smile.

“Jesus,” Joey hisses, hooking a thumb into Cam’s mouth. Cam closes around the digit, getting it wet, licking lovingly along the side. _“Jesus.”_

The thumb doesn’t last long, but Cam doesn’t have enough time to miss it before Joey’s pushing his cock in.

Taking Joey into his throat is easy this time, which is for the best, because Joey doesn’t waste any time. He humps Cam’s face with short, deep, brutal thrusts that bruise Cam’s throat, occasionally grinding deep into Cam and grabbing at his jaw, his throat. Joey’d seen porn where a guy could grab his cock through the girl’s throat; Joey’s dick wasn’t thick enough, honestly, but it’s still a nice thought. Nice enough to make to make Cam hum.

“Fuck,” Joey whines before grasping the sides of Cam’s face and grinding into him until up he comes.

Cam’s face is a mess by the time Joey drags his limp dick out of his mouth, drool and come everywhere. “Come on, baby,” Joey says, out of breath. “You feed me, lemme feed you.” He collects the come on fingers and presses it back into Cam’s mouth, patient but thorough.

Cam’s pretty content spending his morning this way. So content he doesn’t register Joey’s question at first. “Huh?”

“Can I suck you off?” Joey repeats, laughing.

“Oh. Really?” Cam says, trying to catch up.

Joey squints at him, still smiling. “Yeah, really. Orgasms are good for conception, you know.”

That makes Cam pause, frowning before saying, “Joey-”

“I’m kidding,” Joey cuts in, a little harsh. “You want to come or not?”

Cam’s own erection hadn’t even registered, but now that he’s thinking about it:“Yes, please.”

So Joey sucks him off, quick and efficient. Cam’s orgasm warms him in waves, and it’s almost too much after everything else that’s happened.

After, Joey lies with his head on Cam’s stomach while Cam finger combs his hair. It’s starting to get greasy. Cam tries to figure out how to delicately bring up the matter of conditioning instead of putting off washing.

“What I don’t get,” Joey says suddenly, “Is why you don’t want to have my kid. Or, like, anything else.”

Everything in Cam ties up tight. He drops his hands. “Joey…”

“Like I get that you don’t like my apartment-”

“You live in _the University District,_ ” Cam hisses, unwilling to let that go.

“Not really,” Joey argues.

“We’re two miles away from OSU. You can hear people screaming all day, Joey. They’re getting murdered right outside your window.”

“More like that _pussy_ is getting murdered.

“I’m leaving,” Cam announces, forcing himself into action, desperate to get out of this conversation.  

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Joey says, wrapping his arms around Cam’s torso and dragging him back into the bed. “ _The point is,_ we could move together. I already got a place in Van— you’d love it, I swear— but I want something here, with you. We could get a real house with, like, ten bedrooms and a yard and a HOA fee. Our kids could even be American and shit— well, dual.  I just- I want all that with you. I want this to be real and solid in case… anything happens. And I don’t get why you don’t. I love you, Cam.”

“I love you, too, I just don’t want kids,” Cam says, a default answer. He leans away from Joey, even though he can’t get far. Cam’s heart’s already dropping through the floor, trying to run away. This is always an ugly conversation. 

“Obviously that isn’t true,” Joey responds, already bitchy.

Cam inhales. “That’s not- that’s not what all this means.”

“Really? Because that’s what everyone says it means. I’m fairly sure it’s what Redwood told you, too.”

“I… don’t want to lose hockey, my conditioning,” Cam tries again.

“You wouldn’t be missing much, being out this season,” Joey says, dark. He reaches up, twists a nipple, hard. Cam spasms and tries not to squeak. “And this? Pretty much already has you out of commission. You’re barely checked in. What you’re saying isn’t making any sense. Do you not want kids or are you just scared of losing your manly physique?”

Joey can be _mean_ . Cam closes his eyes, trying to focus. Tries to rationalize how daunting the Atkinson trend of five sons is, how terrifying he finds labor (Cam’s seen Joey’s baby pictures, he’d been _big_ ), how he’s not sure if he’s ready to move into the family lounge with the rest of the WAGs.

There is a part of him, a fairly big part, that desperately wants to have Joey’s kid. But Cam can’t admit to that, can’t give in.

“Come on, Cam,” Joey entices. “You already have a new contract, you don’t have to worry about that.” And that, the slight jealous edge, does it.

“I don’t want my kid to be a fucking bargaining chip,” Cam bites out.

The room falls dead silent.

Cam feels Joey puff up against his back, then all the fight drains a second later.

“I just want us to be _together_ ,” Joey hisses, pushing away from Cam, hard but not violent. Cam can feel him move away and sit at the side of the bed. This silence lasts longer. Cam tries to breathe out the panic built up in his chest.

“Do you want breakfast?” Joey asks eventually, dull.

“What, I’m not good enough?” Cam tries to joke. Joey laughs, but not kindly.

“Yeah, I can’t keep that up. You need help, like, constantly and I need real food. So you’ll need to work that out yourself. Is pancakes fine?” He leaves the room before Cam can answer.

Cam follows shortly after, feeling very alone.

They ride to morning practice together. Neither say anything. 

Joey’s agitated, that much is obvious. He’s annoying in a way he usually locks up for the opposing team and keeps antagonizes Torts, apathetic of the consequences. He’s out of the arena the second they’re dismissed, leaving a bitter taste behind him.

Cam’s out of sorts, distracted by the constant throb in his chest and what Joey wants so badly from him.

When he gets back to his apartment, Cam orders the first serviceable pump he comes across off Amazon. Same day shipping. Delivery takes two hours, and Cam’s fingers shake as he rips open the packaging, face burning as he reads the instructions.

He hates it. Feels ridiculous with fucking blowhorns attached to his chest, pulsing on him in a shallow echo of Joey’s mouth. _Or his kid would be,_ that traitorous part of him whispers. Cam can’t help picturing it, though. A baby growing in him, coming from him. A baby with Joey’s cheeks and his hair, smelling like Cheerios and depending on Cam. Laying with him for hours.

Cam would love that baby, he knows.

Emptying takes longer this way, or maybe just feels like it. Either way, he’s just relieved when it ends.

He doesn’t know what to do with the bottles. He ends up throwing it in the freezer, determined to forget about it.

There’s a game that night. Joey’s scratched. Cam plays like shit. They loses.

It doesn’t bother Cam as much as he should. He’s scared that Joey was right. Baby brain, maybe.

He goes home, redoes the pump process, humiliated in his loneliness. He tries not to think about Joey, or having an actual baby to feed this milk to, instead of wasting it.

Two days later, Cam’s frantic as he knocks down Joey’s door.

It doesn’t take long for Joey to answer. “Cam? What-”

“I need you,” Cam sobs. “I need you so much.” He runs face first into Joey’s chest, pressing himself as close as possible. “Everything hurts.”

Joey wraps his arms around Cam and drags him through the doorway. He rubs his hands soothingly up and down Cam’s back, letting him calm down. Once his breathing has evened out, Ryan carefully brought a hand around to Cam’s front.

“It’s pretty much done,” Cam says. He’s _sad_ about it, weirdly anxious.

Joey hums at him, commiserating. He still squeezes once, just to be sure. Predictable. Cam loves him so much.

Cam sniffles. “I missed you.” His body aches. “I _need_ you.”

Cam leans heavily into Joey, eyes wide and begging. He worries for a second that Joey was actually done with him but Joey’s mouth crashes into Cam’s a second later. Cam melts into Joey, lets his mouth go slack to let in Joey’s thick, possessive tongue. He sucks on it when Joey tries to pull away, feeling needy.

“What do you want, baby?” Joey coaxes. “What do you need?”

“Your cock,” Cam says immediately. “I need you in me, I need you to fill me up so bad." 

 _“Fuck.”_ Joey practically carries Cam to their bed, groping wherever he could reach. They don’t hesitate; Joey dumps Cam onto the bed and yanks his shorts down. He grabs the globes of Cam’s ass, fingers digging in. He fucks between them, once, before saying, “Fuck, yeah, baby, I got you. I’ll give you what you need.”

He crawls over Cam to dig the lube out of the bedside table. “Don’t forget the condom,” Cam forces out, already dizzy. Usually, Cam likes being a more active participant, giving as good as good as he gets, but right now he just wants to spread himself open for Joey to roll in. Today’s out of it. Still.

There’s a pause. “Yeah,” Joey says, calm. “Of course.”

“Do you want me to put it on?” Cam offers. That’d been the trade-off, so far, since Joey hates them so much.

Joey heavily settles on Cam’s back. It rubs Cam’s nipples into the bed, but it’s already not nearly as bad as it’s been. “Nah, I got it,” Joey says.

The smell of latex makes Cam’s stomach roll. A part of him viciously hates the thought of it going into him. _It’s necessary_ , he tells himself. 

Joey forces in the first finger quickly, making Cam hiss. “It’s been too long,” Joey murmurs. “So fucking tight right now. Don’t worry, though, I’ll open you up.”

Cam nods dumbly into the mattress and tilts his hips up. Cam slurs out a, “Hurry,” trying to urge him forward.

Joey obliges, dumping more lube on Cam’s hole and sliding in another finger. He scissors them open, stretching Cam out. “Are you ready? Do you need another?”

Cam groans and shakes his head into the mattress.

“Cam, you gotta-”

“Just put your fucking dick in me already,” Cam demands.

And Joey does, going slow. Joey’s right, it’d been awhile, and the stretch is more intense than Cam remembered. Still, it’s so good, good enough to ease some of the tension he’s been carrying.

Joey’s a better fuck like this. He likes making Cam come, especially on his cock. He still fucks hard, but he keeps nailing Cam’s prostate, making his dick drool. It’s just what he needed, except—

“Fuck,” Joey groans. “I want to put a baby in you so bad.”

Cam sobs, tilting his hips up.

“Yeah, baby, knew that’s what you needed. Been fighting me for so long, but I knew. I got you, I’ll give you what you need.” Joey falls onto Cam’s back, locks him in a nelson hold, and grinds deep into him.

Cam’s burning, ashamed and turned on and needy. “Joey, I can’t-”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Joey soothes.

Cam goes limp, except for his dick, which is so hard it hurts by the time Joey reaches down for it. He comes with a brush of Joey’s fingers.

Joey buries his face into Cam’s neck for his last few desperate thrusts, still muttering about knocking Cam up. Cam turns towards him,

Cam twitches when Joey withdraws, oversensitive. Still, he feels settled in a way he hadn’t since his body started working against him. He’s already half asleep when he hears Joey say, “Oh. Oops.”

The tone makes Cam rise his head and look back. Joey’s face is a mask of innocence, but Cam, Cam can _feel-_

He looks down to Joey’s cock. At the shiny, bright pink head of his cock, poking out from the loose remnants of the condom still wrapped around the shaft.

His stomach swoops. “You fuck,” Cam chokes out. “You absolute fuck.” The tidal wave of emotions— shame, resignation, fear— drowns out any calm.

The mattress shifts as Joey inches closer a few seconds later. His first touch is hesitant, but it settles heavy on the back of Cam’s neck when he doesn’t respond. “I didn’t notice, I swear." 

Cam can’t raise his head from where it’s buried in his pillow. The pillowcase is rapidly getting soaked through, from tears or snot or drool. He can feel the wetness of his hole, too, Joey’s jizz slowly starting to leak out of him. He can’t help but imagine that some of it’s been fucked too deep into him to ever come out. Not soon, anyway.

Joey settles in next to him, stroking his back. Eventually, Joey says, “Do you, like, want me to go get you Plan B?” with the same enthusiasm he’d offer to drop Lily off at the pound.

Cam imagines himself getting softer from the baby weight. Imagines his tits swelling even bigger, actually serving a purpose, feeding his kid. Imagines himself barefoot and round in the house Joey promised him. 

Cam twists around, slamming the pillow whatever part of Joey he could reach a handful of times.

“ _No_ ,” he wails. 

**Author's Note:**

> A forced pregnancy tag may have been appropriate, since there's a 57% chance a thumbtack went through that condom at one point, but, ya kno, #spoilers.
> 
> All told, Cam ends up making an excellent Southern belle.
> 
>  
> 
> [The real porn tumblr, as usual.](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com)


End file.
